When the source of the delicious lust glides from the shadows, Kane’s grins widens. He cants head appraisingly, wets his lips with the tip of a tongue as he waits.

He’d been hoping it was a dude. Emotions don’t have a gender or individuality; it’s impossible to tell who owns it unless he can recognize the specific potency and unique mixture. But the man slinking up into his space, every movement intentional and confident and fucking predatory has Kane’s pulse flutteringly in odd ways.

Men are a refreshingly easy fuck. Uncomplicated. Without baggage or preexisting facades. When his empathy is strung out and frayed and his body wound to the point of snapping, it’s always his own sex he turns to for release. They never want the same thing from him as women do. He knows what he is, what his fine strong body looks like and what it offers; with his heartbreaking renegade smile and his broad shoulders and practiced, trustworthy hands.

But every now and then, he likes to be the one thrown around for a change. To be allowed to simply feel for himself, allowed to take for a change without the anxiety of serving. To have the burden of control lifted and surrender to his own emotions with a body he can’t break.

”Empath,” he corrects. With one last drag, the cigarette butt gets flicked to the ground, crushed haphazardly under a toe before his stance opens invitingly to make sure there’s room for the man to crowd him if he so chooses.

”I feel you.” He means to draw out the middle word, making it a physical thing that stretches to caress the stranger in the way his fingers cannot yet reach. He does not mean to have it upturn so much into a whine of need.

His now empty fingers flutter and scratch at the hem of his shirt. He wants to reach out and make the flirtations between them tangible and solid. Suddenly desperate for flesh instead of promises. The guy is saying shit that’s not overly kinky (certainly not the most outlandish he’s participated in by any means) ,but the possession coloring the shadow of his words has Kane’s head rolling back against the wall with a stifled moan.

Yes, fuck, it’s perfect. He can’t believe his sheer dumb luck. It’s exactly what he’s looking for. This fairy goddaddy clad in a suit worth more than Kane makes in a year with his exotic accent and unforgiving stare, his long tapered fingers that will fit all the way around Kane’s throat and just enough bulk to his slim frame to bounce if Kane shatters and bucks him onto a hard surface. With his forgetably perfect face and his spank-bank fodder voice.

Everything Tovah is not.

He manages to hide his shiver but can’t mask the wet click of his throat as he swallows.”I’d let you, Kane concedes. ”As long as you promise not to get rid of this shirt. I have a hunch it’s gonna be my lucky one from here on out.”

The guy’s teeth are fucking perfect. Kane would very much like to have the imprint of them in his shoulder.

Only after he’s damn near vibrating with need does the guy finally back up his words with physical claim. It would be a bit pathetic how quick Kane is to chase the trail of his fingertips, but he’s too preoccupied with crossing the threshold into the man’s space himself to worry.

He hooks the guy’s belt loops, touching along the edge of the immaculately tailored trousers till he’s got one finger hitching down to the warm skin underneath. Two. Three. Thumbs fitting into the divots of the guy’s hip bones he can feel deliciously sharp beneath the fine cloth. His hands span the entire crest of them, flexing suggestively.

But never pulling, never insisting on instant satisfaction. He won’t. There are unspoken rules and in these early negotiations, he’ll be playing the game wrong if he flips the vibe and starts making demands.

Thankfully he’s not made to wait long. The man’s long fingers close around him and Kane’s knees buckle, hard up as he is already from the emotional high he’s been riding all night. But the stranger’s there to catch him, propping him up and swallowing his gasp with a mouth to barters no argument.

No room for no.

Good thing Kane is so vehemently on the Yes Train, zooming ahead at breakneck speed. He moans into the kiss, opening his mouth in surrender, letting the man lick in to take what he wants. Take his choice away, take his control so he doesn’t for once have to decide - who lives, who dies, whether he should love what doesn’t love him back, whether he should just give up, whether he should make the jump to become fully grey and not look back.

Yes. Please. Just fucking take me.

Because he’s a sassy shit who can’t help himself even while submitting, he bites the guy’s lower lip. Hard. Laughs at the guy’s reaction before running the full width of his palms up under the rich jacket, counting ribs as he goes.

Kane fists the edges of the guys shirt, resting there a moment to press his knuckles into the nipples hidden beneath the silk. ”This one looks expensive,” he muses, before ripping the shirt open in one swift motion. Buttons ping off the stone wall at his back, he’s already diving in to make passes along the smooth hot expanse of the man’s abs in way of apology.

Kane shoots him a flirty wink, ducking in to lick along the bared collarbone before him. ”My safe word is ‘cinnamon’,” he grins, hoping to gods he’s read this guy right and is going to be corrected for his cheek.